A Promise of Iron
by theghostofdorne
Summary: Turmoil in a far off realm burns through space and time to the mind of a fifteen year old girl living in modern day Canada. Not knowing her relation to this distant kingdom she begins to follow the voices in her head and images in her dreams guiding her to a secret goal, The Iron Throne of Westeros and the kingdom that is rightfully hers.
1. Chapter 1

_Flames leaped along my arm, licking around my wrist and tickling the smooth, pale skin of my inner forearm. It didn't burn, it never burned. It was the comfort of a woolen blanket and the hug of an absent father, it was the sun warming your shoulders in the day and the passionate whispers of lovers in the night. The scales, hard and smooth as stones, tensed between my thighs as we moved throuh the air, past the golden fire we had just created. We were one being soaring and diving, burning and killing. With fire in the air and blood in our mouths we made our final move..._

"Sophie!" I looked up to see my friend staring at me with horror. "Your arm!"

The group of candles we had lit when the power went out were now no more than stubs. Wax, both hot and cool coated my elbow and the flames were slowly edging up towards my chin, which was resting on my hand. "Oh shit!" I jarred up and grabbed the glass of not-so-ice water and poured it down the lenghth of my arm.

Kat ran to the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel for the floor and table, and started wiping the water-wax mixture from the furniture. As I was bending down to help she looked up at me.

"How could you not feel that?"

"I don't know, " I shrugged as I grabbed another cloth. "I was zoned out."

"That still doesn't explain why you're not burned," she pointed out, _helpfully_.

" I don't know! Maybe I'm made of stone," I mocked. "Do we have any of those hot chilis left, being on fire has made me kind of hungry.

There, a smile."I think there's some left in the fridge, but if you start breathing fire you're on your own!"

I chuckled as I let the bluey glow from the refridgerator fill the kitchen/living room of Katherine's house. I grabbed the jar of chilied peppers and flopped on the couch. Kat was close behind with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritoes and two root beer. With it being her house, and her being Katherine she of couse picked what we watched. Four hours later and many conversations about wedding dress silhouttes and over dressed toddlers (no thanks to you, TLC) the sky began to lighten and our eyes began to droop. We rolled onto the, now half-deflated air matress and piled blanket upon blanket over ourselves until warmth was acheived. A few minutes later Kat was out like a light.

I lay there in the November morning, tracing patterns in the grain of the ceiling with my eyes and watching the room grow lighter with each passing minute. Just as the thought of sleep creeped into my mind, a voice strode in behind it.

_Sophie._

_Sophie, come home._

_We're all waiting, sweetling._

_I'm waiting._


	2. Chapter 2

_He slipped out of the Red Keep and through the mud gate, clutching the bundle to his chest. The city was in outrage, screams of pain, bloodlust and pure hatred filled the air as thick as the smoke the hung over every building and street. Keeping as close to the city wall as possible he inched his way towards the docks trying the shield his burden from most of the smoke. _

_As he neared the ship, it's captain looked up, gold tooth gleaming, "I assume you've brought my promised pay?"_

_After handing over a few gold dragons he hunkered down in a corner of the one room below deck and waited for the ship to move. He slowly swayed back and forth, humming a song from a memory. Asweet memory of one dance with the one woman he could ever love. It was because of her he was here tonight without her he never would have been given a place at court or this very secret task._

_At long last the water began to move beneath them, and Petyr felt safe enough to remove the flap of cloth cover the top of the bundle. Her sleepy eyes opened and looked straight into his, those eyes weren't Stark eyes, he could easily tell. She seemed to take after her Dornish grandmother, with her golden-brown eyes and silky mop of black hair but... even just a few hours old, the look on her face was pure Targaryen. _

He sat up shaking in his four poster bed as the cold night air blew in through a window carelessly left ajar. The wind felt like winter, smelled like winter even_ tasted_ like winter. He didn't need to see the white raven himself, a blind man could tell the seasons had changed. As he dressed and lit a candle he thought back on his strange dream, no, not a dream, a memory. A memory almost sixteen years old and shoved in the darkest corners of his mind.

Still, he could not help but think of her now, where she could be. He knew she was in _the other world_ the one the Dornish maesters had sent her to keep her safe. The few hours he had there were the most revolutionary moments of his life. When he had slipped into a hospital to find a pair of foster parents for the girl, who he had named Visera, a play on her young uncle's name. As he walked down the almost too pristine hallway he spotted a young couple on a bench, the wife had been crying, that was evident and she was leaning against her husband. Her very Dornish looking husband.

_"Excuse me," he caught the attention of a member of staff. "Would you be ever so kind as to tell me what happened to that poor couple?"_

_"Well, it's quite sad really. We have their nine-month-old daughter on life support in the room across the hall. She just stopped breathing."_

_"Why, that's terrible!"_

_"Yes, I suppose it is. I actually only stopped because I thought you had the poor child. She looks almost identical to the one in that room. They could be twins, really."_

_"How... strange. Thank you for your time." He mumbled as he walked by, straight to the end of the corridor to an open closet, a plan already forming in his head. Just as he thought, spare coats, like the ones he had been seeing lined the walls of the closet. He shrugged one on and walked with determination towards two people who were about to be thrilled with the news, and appearence of their healthy baby girl._

_As he left the building he passed another couple, though they had their child with them. The girl looked at him with unblinking, icy green eyes, and though they weren't grey he knew that that one. That one was a wolf. He took the crystals that the maesters had instructed him to take when his duty was finished and couldn't help wondering..._

_Could there be friendship between fire and ice?_


	3. Chapter 3

Another Targaryen?" he hissed as he opened the letter. "Well, I always figured that my brother impregnated his northern whore, I just didn't know their bastard would live." He tossed the page back at the serving girl and waved her out. He fell back onto the plush mattress, staring at the movement of the sheer silk bed hangings blowing in the warm breeze. Winter came so much later in the Free Cities, and he was thankful for it, he had never been a fan of the cold. Never a fan of molten hot, though, his thoughts reminded him of that terrible night.

Still, a third Targaryen could be useful, with his undevoted sister play-ruling a thousand leagues away on Slavers Bay he would need a new queen to take to Westeros. If there was a Targaryen girl in the other world, even just a half-blood, he could keep the line mostly pure without inviting back the betrayer that was his sister.

The sister that he had cared for her entire life, selling everything he owned so she had food in her belly and clothes on her back. The moment that food in her belly was replaced by a baby, she forgot where she stood. She and her savage husband attempted to murder him, _him, _and then had the gall to say he wasn't a dragon. When their horde of imbeciles moved away from the patch of dirt and straw they call a city, he struggled to stand with his new, heavy skull.

Now, after a journey that seemed twice as long as the last one, he was back in Pentos, looking at the ruin his face had become. The looking glass had perfect reflection, as expected in Magister Illyrio's home, so he knew the horror that he saw was the truth.

From his nose down he was still the handsome devil he had always been: full lips, perfect, vaguely sharp teeth and a strong angled jaw covered in smooth, pale skin. As you got closer to the gold though, his skin became darker, on the border between the metal and his flesh, the colour was almost black. One violet eye remained, bright and angry, his other eye had not fared so well. Beneath the patch covering the upper left quadrant of his face a mess of cooked, smeared purple and white gell, blackened and veined with gold covered the hollow where his eye had been and dripped down over his cheekbone, baked to the skin. Narrow runs of gold had dripped beside it, like so many raindrops, or better yet, tears. Similar drops framed his functioning eye, irritated red skin met it, making his eye look like it was on fire. He chuckled coldly at this find remembering the last words he heard his _sweet _sister say.

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

Well, my sweet, it didn't.


End file.
